The Lady and the Tramp
by magicjohnson32
Summary: She was the daughter of a Congressman, who lived in the lap of luxury. He was the son of heroin addict and a convicted murderer, who lived in squalor and abandoned middle school to work to survive. Fate is a rubbish concept, but blind luck can take you a long way in life.
1. Chapter 1

**This is the beginning of a new story I'm starting, because of an annoying trend I've noticed. There are hundreds, I repeat hundreds of stories where Edward is born with the silver spoon, and Bella is poor/abused/unloved/weak/pathetic and all of the above. Now that damsel in distress is all good and well, but I like a bit of variation, so I'm trying the reverse scenario. Edward's not going to be weak or pathetic but he's going to have it tougher. Anyway, hope you enjoy the beginning, and let me know whether you think it's worth me continuing!**

* * *

Welcome to the difficulties involved in being a thirteen year girl.

I'm sick of benefit dinners and I hate charities.

Not particularly 'charitable' or 'ladylike' of me, I know, and my parents would be appalled because they lived for them, or so it seemed.

I just wanted to do the things I always did, like play with our family puppy that I had gotten for my birthday, watch TV and swim in our pool overlooking the Malibu coast. And these damned orphaned children were interfering with my life, once again.

As far as I was concerned, the kids who were in orphanages got an incredible head start in life. Imagine all the time they had on their hands!

Parents were certainly overrated creations in my book, I mean, think of everything a 13 year old girl could do without them, the possibilities were endless!

Naturally however, I was cursed with two parents who seemed to spend half their lives at these dinners, raising money or congratulating each other until the early hours of the morning. Apparently it was "part of being a Congressman" my father told me, which I really didn't understand.

If I was completely honest, I didn't really understand what a Congressman did or was, but I didn't care that much either. All it meant to me was that my dad was away for a large part of the year in Washington DC where he worked, which was very cold and didn't have any beaches. No wonder mom refused to move there.

The thought of the beach made me perk up, as I flattened out my miniature green ballroom gown, using my small hands to rub out the creases across my midriff. It was identical to that of my mother, just smaller which apparently made it look 'cute', according to both my parents. It wasn't lost on me that it was one of the few things they agreed upon these days.

I was sitting at a table, watching the world of expensive jewellery, high heels and black ties file past when I heard my father's voice through the speakers. Uh oh. I knew that tone. It meant a speech was brewing. Bored witless and unwilling to be subjected to the experience of my father speaking at length on a topic I was pretty sick of, I hopped off my seat in search of entertainment.

The room which had become my prison was relatively large, and particularly ornate. You couldn't miss the crystal chandeliers or the large sculpture that sat in the middle of the room, observing everyone with it's slightly disdainful expression. My 13 year old self had never felt better reflected by a piece of art.

I studied a waiter as he shuffled past me, holding a silver platter. The boy, so my father had told me, was supposed to be an orphan, working under the new _Employ an Orphan_ program where kids from local orphanages could "gain valuable life skills in the workplace while earning themselves some pocket money".

The boy in front of me, however, looked nothing like the kids from Oliver's Twist. He was clean, first of all, and secondly his formal clothing was neatly pressed down to his bow-tie, to match his haircut. To me that looked like every other waiter I'd ever seen. Unfortunately, I could claim to to be somewhat of an expert in the field.

I'd always imagined orphans would lead exciting, unencumbered lives, but the girl I'd tried to talk to had asked me whether I had the newest copy of _Teen Vogue_. I was almost wishing I had brought a copy, after being patted on the head for the tenth time, or had some bleached blonde woman coo over me like I was five again.

I was thirteen, for god sake! I was positively old! My mother always scowled when I said things like that, but I think it's because she's getting wrinkles, I see her lathering herself in that cream stuff, and whenever she goes to the doctor she comes back looking like a fish, with the skin stretched over her cheeks and her lips all puffed up.

I was determined to find myself a proper orphan to talk to, a real Artful Dodger. We had started doing Dickens at school, and I'd decided I loved it. It was like a whole other world opened up when my teacher started reading, and I was determined to find someone who existed in a place like that.

Scanning the room, my eyes alighted on the odd one out, naturally drawn to the individual who looked most out of place. And this boy really looked out of place.

He was tall and slender, and his suit was clearly made for someone shorter and fatter. His hair wasn't neatly pressed at all, in fact it was a bit of mess, and it was a funny bronze colour. Most noticeably of all though was the fact that he was grubby. His hands were streaked with dirt, and he had a dark smudge on his jaw that someone had clearly unsuccessfully tried to wipe it off in a hurry.

I sauntered over to him, watching him as I did so. He was clearly nervous, and felt out of place, that much was clear. He was holding his silver platter of watercress and leek seaweed rolls in both hands, and his chest height. Not exactly classic waiter posture.

He also wasn't moving, and when someone eventually decided that a watercress and leak seaweed roll was their hearts desire, he almost panicked and dropped all of them. Now he was sitting in a corner and looking around with wide eyes, apparently hoping everyone would leave him alone.

I was not going to be put off.

"Hello!" I said loudly.

He hadn't seen me, and his platter hit the floor with a thud.

"Ooops. Don't think you were meant to do that," I said, giggling slightly.

The look of panic on the boys face shut me up pretty quickly.

"No, don't worry, I'm sure it's alright. Hang on, I'll just kick that under here..." I said as I used my stupid semi-heels, or 'trainer heels' as my mother referred to them, to slide the evidence under the tablecloth of the sidebar, which hung to the floor.

"I'm Isabella, but everyone calls me Bella," I said to him, holding out my hand after I wiped my shoes on the carpet.

"Edward," he replied, and it was as he took my hand to shake it that I remembered that I could see the dirt on his fingers from halfway across the room. Never mind, I was determined to have that authentic orphan experience before I left, and this kid looked like my best chance.

"So, what's it like being an orphan?" I asked him. Subtlety is something I've always struggled with. Ever since birth it had been apparent that verbal, and more severely, physical coordination had seemingly managed to both pass me by.

Although, from the tremor in all the boy's movements, I thought I might have found a kindred spirit. He was shaking like a leaf, and his eyes darted around like those people who talk to my father when he's angry.

"I'm not an orphan..." the boy blurted out, before slapping is hand across his mouth.

I felt cheated.

"What do you mean you're not an orphan? What are you doing at a benefit for orphans then?" I asked, sounding outraged for no apparent reason.

Despite the slight stutter, the boy spoke with the most unique voice I'd ever heard. He spoke softly, but the quality of his tone was undeniable, it slid over me like velvet.

"Do you promise not to tell anyone?" he asked, glancing from side to side fugitively.

I positively rubbed my hands together with girlish glee at this statement.

A bit of mystery, a bit of intrigue? I could see my book world opening up in front of me. I grabbed him by the arm and pulled him round behind the trestle tables, and then dragged him down to sit next to me so we couldn't be seen unless you lifted the tablecloth and looked at the back wall. A perfect secret hiding spot in which to hear a mysterious story.

"If you're not an orphan, then what are you doing here? You look dirty enough to be an orphan," I repeated, and the boy appeared nervous as he picked at the carpet gently, looking the other way.

He really was the strangest boy I'd ever seen. He was thin, very thin, almost as if he didn't eat well enough. His skin was slightly sallow, and he was jumpy, his eyes never settling in one place for long, constantly watching everything and everyone around him. Of course, I was a thirteen year old girl, so I cared little for other people's problems. I stared at him as fiercely as I could muster until I got an answer.

Eventually he spoke.

"A man found me walking to the pickup spot, and dragged me in here because they were short one kid," the boy replied softly.

So many questions.

"First of all, pick up point from what? And why did you take the job?" I asked, channelling my best Sherlock Holmes. Not that I actually had read or seen Sherlock Holmes on TV, but I knew he was a famous detective, and the comparison made me feel smart.

"I'm... I'm... you promise not to tell anyone?" he repeated, and I nodded impatiently.

"I work on construction sites as a labourer," he said quickly, and I was shocked. None of my friends had part time jobs, we were all too young.

"How old are you?" I demanded.

The boy looked uncomfortable.

"I'm 13 years old, but I have a card that says I'm 15. Mom's boyfriend got it for me, cause otherwise I wouldn't be allowed to work."

"Why are you so desperate to work? And aren't those fake cards illegal?" I fired off, maintaining my assault.

"I... My mother's boyfriend says I have to. I don't really know anything more than that," he said, shrugging uneasily.

"My parents don't make me work," I announced, for lack of a better reply.

He was silent, but instead chose to keep picking at the loose threads of the carpet, and I was immediately affronted that he could possibly find this pastime more interesting than my company.

"You're being very rude you know!" I announced haughtily.

"S...sorry," he stuttered, his nerves returning, "I'm not really meant to be here. My mother and her boyfriend were expecting me home an hour ago. They'll be angry with me, I know they will," he blurted out, all in a rush.

"You're very strange," I told him truthfully, given that I'd never met anyone like him.

"Sorry," was all he had to say in reply.

We continued to sit in silence for a while, and I examined him out of the corner of my eye. He sat slumped slightly, as if he was exhausted, and stared intently at the carpet the whole time, never lifting his eyes to meet mine when he spoke, not like my mother had taught me was proper.

Instead he simply picked away at those loose threads, pulling them one by one from the carpeted floor, scratching almost inaudibly as he did so.

After a few minutes had passed, the boy Edward suddenly jumped up, and promptly bumped his head on the table with a sharp crack.

"I'm supposed to be serving," he breathed as if he had just remembered, looking more panicked than before, rubbing his head, "If he finds out I'm not working, he won't pay me!"

And with that, he ducked out from underneath the table, knocking another platter onto the floor as he did so. He was already gone however, racing into the kitchens where this unnamed "he" awaited to inform my pretend orphan friend his fate. Well, I thought of us as friends, anyway. But Mom was always telling me to be more careful around strangers.

No sooner than my thoughts shifted to my mother then she did appear, peering underneath the table cloth with a disapproving frown on her face.

I knew that look. That was her "I'm angry with you but we're in public" face and I smiled wistfully inside. It always meant a gentle telling off now, followed by a more serious one later.

"You should know better than that," my mother muttered in a dark tone, her hand wrapped tightly around my elbow, "in fact, you do know better than that. It's very important to your father that everything goes perfectly tonight, he doesn't need to be worrying that his daughter is crawling under tables with servants like she's three years old!"

"But mom..." I whined, as I was led away.

"But nothing," she cut me off, "you are going to sit and behave yourself young lady, until your father is completely finished, and everyone else has gone. And you won't complain."

I was seated back at the same spot I had been in before, and as I lowered myself into my seat, my mother grabbed the back of my gown and exclaimed in horror.

"Isabella! You've managed to stain the hem of your dress, you see, this is what happens when you crawl around on the floor, you get disgusting and grubby. Now sit here so no one can see what you've done."

My mother marched away, not glancing back as I toyed with the offending hemline. My mother was a strange woman, and I couldn't quite explain why to anyone who wasn't in my family. Not including my father, naturally, because he was never there.

So really that just left me to explain why my mother was strange.

To anyone who saw her in public, on television or radio programs, opening charitable projects or any of the many other things she spent her time doing, she was like "an angel gifted to earth" as my father had just described her in his speech.

I knew she loved me a lot, and cared about my dad, but it was like everything else got muddled up in between, they both had so much happening all the time that our family got lost somewhere underneath it all. I wished pretty much every day that all of it would just go away, and we could become a completely normal family for once.

Not that there was much chance of that happening, I was resigned to spend a lifetime, or at least my childhood, appearing a functions as the accessory of choice for my father when my mom wasn't within reach.

Hours. I had been sitting here for hours, which at some point had started to feel like years.

I was watching again, and caught sight of my pretend orphan friend, but he stayed away from me. I think he must have gotten into trouble, because he was positively shivering, and half ran everywhere in his haste to get rid of everything on his platter.

Slowly however, people began to leave, usually least important or least connected to my father first. Naturally his opponents left, the ones who made him curse sometimes when he was on the phone or computer at home.

Next it was the older guests, a couple of whom were snoring gently at the table I was sitting at, and making me giggle, until my mother had come to tell me off of course.

Finally, my father shook the hand of the last man, and pretended to kiss the last ladies cheek, which always seemed like a strange thing to me, and we were left with mom, dad and I, in the massive function room, as the cleaners began their hefty task of repairing all the damage that had been done to their previously sparkling floor.

"I'm going to help hand out the pocket money to all the orphaned kids who served tonight, because they're about to catch the bus back," my father announced, and I struggled to hold in my frustrated sigh. I just wanted to go back home and play with my puppy.

My father led my mother and I into the kitchens, where all the children who had helped serve were lined up, no longer wearing their suits, but dressed in their normal casual clothing, chattering amongst themselves.

My father, never one to pass up the opportunity, launched into a speech about how grateful he was for their help, and how all the guests had been so complimentary about their serving. I'd heard one woman threaten under her breath to cuff one of the boys after he spilt something on her, but daddy must have missed that particular assessment.

Next he produced certificates, which were quickly forgotten about when each child was handed a crisp ten dollar note with a firm shake of the hand.

My friend from underneath the table was given one too, and shook my father's hand, but looked decidedly less impressed with the money than any of the others. While my father wiped his hand on a napkin, clearly having noticed Edward's dirty hands, the money was extracted from the children for safe keeping by the head of the orphanage, and they filed out the back to where their bus was waiting to take them to their beds. I was more than a little jealous.

When they had all filed out however, Edward was left, looking confused and unsure of himself once again.

"Aren't you supposed to be out there with them?" My father asked kindly, "you wouldn't want to get left behind!"

Edward stayed silent, and stared at his feet. He was apparently hoping we'd ignore him and disappear.

"Hey? Your bus is going to leave without you!" my father said more loudly, putting his hand on Edward's shoulder.

I decided to rescue him.

"He's not an orphan," I announced, feeling buoyed by my superior knowledge.

My mother and father both looked confused.

"He's being paid because they were short a couple of orphans to help," I added, and now Edward looked up. I thought I was helping him out of an awkward situation, but he was staring daggers at me.

"What do you mean he's not an orphan?" my father asked, "these children have been brought from the orphanage to help out, I saw their bus arrive."

Silly daddy, always needed things explained to him twice. Mom was only slightly better.

"You mean this boy is being paid to be here? Where are his parents? Whose looking after him?"

I had answers to none of these questions so I stayed silent, and instead stared at Edward like my parents were. He didn't move, and continued to stare at the floor like he was trying to make a hole in it.

"Where are your parents, darling?" my mother asked more kindly, bending down as far as her gown would allow. My father was now blustering under his breath about being lied to and manipulated, stroking his moustache like he did whenever he felt slightly confused.

My mom had taken Edward's hand now, and with a firm "Charlie!" directed at my father, she led the four of us out into the main function room, where the clean up was nearly finished, and the lights were being switched off.

I yawned widely, and my mother frowned.

"Charlie," she said, addressing my father in her favourite tone of voice, "we can't just leave him here."

"But what do you expect us to do with him?" My father demanded, his eyes swivelling from Edward to my mom.

"We'll put him on the floor of Bella's room, and then tomorrow we can take him down to child services. No parents should be abandoning their child like this, it's disgraceful!" my mother said.

"Be reasonable, Renee, he could be a criminal for all we know! And you want to leave him with our daughter?"

"Stop being stupid, Charlie, he's thirteen and he's been left on his own. How many hardened criminals work as cater waiters and it's for one night!"

My mother was not an easy woman to conquer.

"I like him, he can stay in my room tonight," I piped up, and my mother smiled at me.

"There you go Charlie, it's settled then. Honestly, I can't believe you sometimes," she said haughtily.

My father just wore that look that he got whenever mommy and I ganged up on him. Our cleaning lady often described it as 'defeated'.

* * *

**Edward will not be getting adopted. Because that would be weird/obvious. This story will be skipping through the years pretty quickly, because I'm not great at portraying thirteen year olds. Not that I'm promising to be better at them when they're older, it just hopefully won't be worse :) Anyway, if you're interested, or you think I'm wasting my time, leave your opinion below.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Been a while since I uploaded anything, and for that I apologise sincerely, but thank you to those of you who favourited or put this story on your alerts list, it means a lot. An especially big thanks to those of you who did review, it means the world, and is great inspiration!**

* * *

Mom and dad were doing that strange silent conversation thing again. They just kept exchanging glances with various facial expressions attached. It was like they have finally managed to perfect arguing to the extent where words were no longer needed.

I was used to my parents' disagreements. They disagreed about everything and anything, whenever they spent any time together. I once asked mommy whether she was happy after she and dad had a screaming match, and she just looked at my strangely but didn't answer.

Ignoring my parents, I concentrated on the boy, Edward. He was permanently stooped, and dragged his feet in a manner my mother would have found highly offensive if I'd replicated, if she'd been paying attention that is.

He had changed out of his miniature tuxedo and bowtie, and had replaced it with something decidedly less formal; a pair of baggy jeans that slumped over his slim hips, and ill-fitting flannelette shirt and a pair of lace up work boots that were the only decent piece of attire in the whole outfit. My mother was particularly taken aback at the sight.

"We're staying in a hotel," I announced to our house guest for the evening, but he didn't respond.

"It's got a pool and a spa downstairs, and my room has its own television!" I continued, trying to provoke a response.

All I received for my troubles was a swift rebuke from my mother, who told me "not to boast". After that I was silent until the car arrived to collect us.

The limousine pulled up out the front of the building, and the man at the reception desk held open the front door for us so we could exit the lobby. Edward looked strangely at the receptionist, and then back to me, and then back at the man, as if unsure of what had just occurred, as if exiting a building was some kind of big thing.

It was nothing compared to his reaction to the limousine however. He just stared at it in awe.

"Haven't you seen a car before?" I asked with a giggle, and my mom gave me a warning glare.

"Why's it so long?" Edward blurted out, staring at it.

"It's a limousine, that's why," I answered smugly. Once again, I knew something he didn't.

"You travel in a limousine?" he asked, sounding overawed.

"Of course we do. We get them all the time, don't we dad?"

"You're mother told you not to boast darling, now hop in before I get it in the neck for letting you get cold standing on the sidewalk," my father said, gesturing to the door his was holding open.

"Aren't they for really, really rich people?" asked Edward, as he followed me into the car.

"We are really, really rich," I replied with another smug grin.

"Isabella!" my mother admonished loudly. "Charlie, did you hear what your daughter just declared? It was extremely rude of you!"

"Hmmph?" my father grunted in reply, clearly not paying attention. I would have put money, all that birthday money I had been given, that he was checking the baseball scores on his smartphone.

Sure enough, when I leaned over, he had the ESPN application open and the scorecards were being pored over on the phone in his right hand, while his left hand teased the end of his moustache, a feature that was another source of tension between my parents.

My mother just grunted disapprovingly and said no more as we settled into our seats. Meanwhile a stunned looking Edward sat with his chin resting on his arm staring out the window as the bright Los Angeles lights whizzed by in the middle of the night.

* * *

By the time we arrived at our hotel, I was very tired, and yet I was still excited. I led Edward by the hand, while he stared open mouthed at the foyer of the building, leading him into the elevator ahead of my parents.

I insisted on pushing the button for our top floor suite, as I always did, and we stood in silence as the floors were illuminated one by one from the ground up. Once the little light lit up the number fourteen, the doors pinged dully, and slid open.

My mother unlocked the white door with the number '118' on it in gold lettering, and opened it.

"This is my room," I told Edward excited, while my parents just looked pointedly at each other, my father concealing a yawn behind his hand.

There was a knock on the door, and my mother ushered in a concierge who wore a less that pleased expression, and had a mattress under one arm. My mother had evidently organised somewhere for my newfound friend to sleep.

Pressing some money into the man's hand, my father declared that it was time for bed, to which I protested loudly. It wasn't often that I got to have a friend stay over, but my parents were having another argument, although this time they were clearly trying to keep it quiet.

"We don't know him, we don't know where he comes from or what he's like," my father whispered gruffly, just loud enough for me to make out. For his part, Edward simply stood there peering around the room with a shocked look on his face, as if he'd never seen anything like it before in his life.

"He's a kid, not a criminal Charlie." My mother's whispers were softer than my fathers, but I could still make out their conversation, and if I could hear it, I was sure Edward could as well, although he pretended not to I think.

"I don't want him sleeping in Bella's room," my father said more loudly, sounding demanding, but I could already tell my mother was going to win this argument. Sometimes you just know.

"Don't be ridiculous Charlie, the mattress is already set up and everything," my mother answered with a tone of finality, and turned to us. "Come on Edward dear, I'll get you and Bella ready for bed and then tomorrow we'll doing something about getting you down to Child Services in the morning."

If I hadn't been watching Edward fairly closely, I don't imagine I would have noticed him stiffen almost immediately, as if he was suddenly petrified of something. My mother was too busy to notice, pulling sheets and a pillow out from the cupboard, but I did. Edward took a few deep breaths and just like that he was calm and silent again. I didn't think too much of it.

I'd always thought it was easier to talk lying in bed than anywhere else. My friends and I often had sleepovers, especially when my parents were away, and we used to talk long into the night and tell each other things we'd never dream of saying during the daytime.

It was this phenomenon I hoped would hold true when I started a conversation with our strange houseguest, who was lying on the floor on the mattress next to my single bed.

"Pssttt..." I hissed loudly, "are you still awake?"

There was a temporary silence, and then the soft voice came back to me.

"Yes."

"Well, aren't we going to talk? Isn't that what you do during a sleepover?" I asked him.

"I... I don't know," he replied, sounding unsure.

"Well, what do you normally do when you have sleepover?"

"I haven't had a sleepover before," was the reply.

I was silent for a second.

"Do... do you not have any friends?" I asked quietly. It was a little blunt of me to be sure, but I felt honesty was important.

"Not really," he answered, not sounding at all offended, as if it wasn't really a concern for him.

"Well, since I'm your friend, would your parents let me sleep over?" I asked, sounding him out.

"You wouldn't want to," he replied shortly.

"Why wouldn't I want to? We're friends, friends spend time together, my mom says that's how it works anyway."

"My parents wouldn't want me to have people sleep over," Edward answered.

"Are your parents mean? Or is it just one of your parents? Is your dad mean, cause sometimes my dad is mean, he gets angry at me for the smallest things and then mom gets angry at him for getting angry at me."

"My dad is dead."

I was silent for a good long time, while I tried to think of something to say.

"Do you just live with your mom then?"

"And her boyfriend," he replied, his voice cracking a little bit.

"And she wouldn't want to have me sleep over? Doesn't she want you to be happy? If she loves you, she would want you to be happy," I announced, sounding confident.

"She loves whatever is in those needles she puts in her arm," Edward replied, his voice almost a whisper now.

I didn't understand this concept very well, so I blustered on.

"What happened to your dad?"

Even at the age of thirteen, I realised that question may have been insensitive as soon as it left my lips, but I couldn't take it back. It simply hung there in the air, lingering painfully.

"He was killed in a place called Victorville, which is a prison according to Donny. Someone stabbed him with something called a shank in the neck, he said."

I was shocked into silence once more. I had never met a kid anything like this boy, and my intrigue was stupidly overriding my reasoning. I was too interested to stop and seriously consider the boy's feelings.

"Whose Donny? What's a shank?"

"He's my mom's boyfriend. He's a bastard and I hate him," Edward added viciously, the first overt emotion I'd heard from him all evening, overlooking the second part of the question.

"What's wrong with him?" I asked, ignoring the voice in the back of my head that told me my mother would have been appalled if she heard me.

"All he does is drink and lie around in our house. He hits me if I'm late or I argue with him. Sometimes he hits me because he's just angry. I just hate him," he repeated.

"My parents sometimes used to smack me if I broke something or I used a swear word," I said, knowing it wasn't quite the same even as I said it.

He didn't respond to this.

"What do your parents do as their jobs?" I asked, changing tacts. This was a favourite topic of mine, because lots of people knew who my father was, which made me proud.

"My mom and Donny don't work."

"How do they pay for things then?" I asked, sounding shocked. My parents were big on teaching the value of hard work as paying off with money that I could use to buy stuff. All adults did some sort of work, that was just how the world worked, as I knew it.

"They collect welfare checks for being unemployed."

This puzzled me, as I remembered back to our conversation at the event that evening.

"But don't you work?" I asked, confused.

"Donny makes me work, because they get welfare for me because mom is listed as a single mother. He says he can only get welfare if he's unemployed whereas I can get it cause I'm a child so it doesn't matter if I work or not."

"I don't understand that," I said honestly.

"Neither do I," came the bitter reply.

The silence stretched out interminably, until I felt the need to break it with simply anything, and I said the first thing that came to my mind.

"I don't think my parents love each other," I declared into the black space. The sentiment was born from the feeling that Edward had provided lots of personal information while I had given nothing. Not that I didn't believe it.

"I'm... I'm sorry," was Edward's simple reply.

"Yeah... me too," I agreed, laying back into my pillow.

Another lengthy pause ensued.

"Do you like working?" I asked, trying to keep the conversation flowing.

"I liked school," Edward replied slowly and deliberately, "everyone else always complained about having to go to school and do work, but not me. I liked school."

"Did you have lots of friends at school?"

He paused.

"Not sure really. They were my friends at school, but I don't see them anymore. I never have time to play and so they've forgotten me. I saw Jonathon in the street the other day and he ignored me."

"I'm sorry," I responded earnestly. I couldn't imagine what having no friends was like, especially since I had so many of them.

I sat silently considering what I'd heard that evening, and for the first time I began to realise that there was a world outside the one I lived in. I didn't know anyone my age that had to work for a living. Sure, there were a few kids whose parents were mean, and they seemed to never let their kids do anything fun, but they weren't beating them as far as I knew. Not like Edward seemed to suggest he was, anyway.

It was well after midnight by now though, and I was getting sleepy. My eyes began to droop, and I curled up slightly and burrowed into my pillow as sleep overtook me.

* * *

"Bella!" whispered a voice in my ear.

I groaned.

"Bella!" repeated the voice more urgently, shaking my shoulder gently.

I curled up tighter, hoping the person would go away.

"I'm leaving Bella," the voice said, and my mind registered who it was.

I rolled over and glanced fleetingly at the clock, which informed me that it was 4:08am in the morning, and the light had not begun to touch the shores of Los Angeles yet.

Edward was standing there fully clothed, his hand on my arm, shaking gently.

"What do you mean you have to leave?" I asked, completely nonplussed.

"I can't stay here. Your parents want to take me to Child Services, and then my parents would be called, and mum's boyfriend would beat the hell out of me cause he'd have to come and pick me up. I have to go before your parents wake up!"

"My parents will protect you, I know they will!" I insisted dopily, as I considered making enough noise to wake them up regardless. I still was sleepy, and everything was happening so fast that I couldn't decide what to do. It was a mistake.

"No, no, please don't. I have to work tomorrow, I have to take money back to my mum's house or else terrible things will happen. You don't understand, please, just let me leave and if you have to tell your parents, tell them tomorrow morning. Tell them thank you, and goodbye," he said, and with that he turned, picked up his ratty bag of god-knows-what, and ran out the door.

I wouldn't see that strange boy again for more than a year.

* * *

**Short I know, but I just wanted to get it out. The next chapter is a bit of Edward's perspective and a view of his world, so prepare to be depressed! Well, hopefully I can convey that feeling, anyway. As always, in you have a second to spare, I would love some feedback. You don't even have to have an account to review, just type two lines and tell me what you think! Thank you very much for your patience and support!**


	3. Chapter 3

There are some places in the world you really hope you are never unfortunate enough to find yourself in. Sometimes it's because they're dangerous, sometimes it's because they're in the middle of nowhere, and sometimes it's because you couldn't imagine anywhere more inhospitable. And then there are those unique locations that manage to combine all three.

Adelanto, California was quite possibly the dustiest place on the planet. The dust was simply everywhere. Stand still for more than a few minutes, a you would acquire a fine layer of it, head to toe. Everyone and everything got covered in it, to the extent that no one cared any more. If everyone was dusty then it was exactly the same as if nobody was.

Dust was the first thing that visitors noticed. The next was the poverty. '_Welcome to Real California'_ locals used to say, whenever a stray outsider made the mistake of stopping off on route to somewhere else. The truth was, the real California wasn't as bad as this, but then again, not much was.

The most famous thing about the town, to the rest of the nation at least, was that it always managed to make national lists as one of the most impoverished counties in the country. No one who had or made money chose to stay in Adelanto. It wasn't safe to do so, even if they had wanted to.

Within the town, the thing that everyone knew but nobody talked about was the law enforcement. '_Them bears are more bent than that singer bloke on TV_' was a popular saying, and despite the lack of heartfelt support for equality and acceptance, the statement rang true; the Adelanto Police Department was more corrupt than your average military dictatorship.

The idea of wealth was extremely relative in Adelanto, but for those who had more money than the rest of the town, it became their oyster; nothing that the police department could access was out of reach, for the right price. Immunity could be bought or born in to, and it had been that way for as long as anyone could remember.

Of the towns two thousand inhabitants, only a handful had qualifications of any sort, and none of them were locals. They were all there on government grants, being paid handsomely to live in a remote town for a few years teaching at the elementary school or working in the local clinic. It spoke volumes about the town that more than half of those who came on grants didn't last their allotted two years. Most of them decided it wasn't worth the pain and suffering.

Adelanto had no high school, either. The government had given up running the free bus service to the nearest town with a school after about six months, when the local authorities informed them that not a single child had used it during its entire existence. Local authorities had their hands full stopping drop-outs occurring in middle school, when it wasn't supposed to be legal, let alone trying to get the kids to go through high school.

* * *

Personally, I only did two years of middle school. To me, middle school was a lot like elementary school, which had been a surprising revelation, aged five. I had loved elementary school completely, it was so different to anything I did or heard anywhere else. But I wasn't like most kids, even then I knew it.

My parents, well, my mom and her boyfriend were both extremely disdainful of school. To them it was wasted years because no education in this town ever amounted to anything. It was better to get a job and prepare yourself for fifty years of monotonous minimum wage jobs if you were lucky enough not to be unemployed, followed by ten years of retirement in which your body fell apart and your mind deserted you.

Even my father disliked school, from what I can remember. He dropped out aged 16 to join the Army, and stayed there, taking leave only to get married to my mother nearly fourteen years ago. Of course he wound up in prison and got stabbed in a prison brawl, so maybe his opinion on school wasn't as rock-solid as I had imagined in my younger years.

I'm older and wiser now. Fourteen and nine months is really pretty old, and even I'm aware that I sound older than I should. Part of it is because I have a dictionary stashed underneath my mattress in my room and I make sure I learn at least two new words every day, but I'm also aware of how different I am. This was not how it was supposed to be, my father was supposed to finish his rotation and we would all live together in one big happy family. Of course, I'm beginning to realise my fond memories of the past have been positively tinged by the harsh realities of the present.

* * *

4.30 am in the morning. It's early. It's freezing cold. And I'm walking out the door with my ratty flannelette shirt on, grubby jeans and the boots that are coming apart at the sole. Fortunately Donny didn't finish off the stew my mother threw together last night because, in his words, it "tasted like dog shit".

Eloquent as ever. Well, his loss was my gain, and although my mother's cooking is abysmal, it's still food. And some breakfast is better than no breakfast.

Another reason for my good mood is that summer is upon us. While that meant working in sweltering conditions on scaffolds thirty feet in the air, it made getting out of bed a hell of a lot easier. It never dropped below 55° Fahrenheit overnight, whereas during winter it was often below 25° when I got up, which was literally freezing.

It took me fifteen minutes to walk to the pickup spot, where the van and a couple of pickups were waiting to collect all of us. The mood, as it always was in the mornings, was dour, as the group of similarly attired men huddled around in the car park as the contractors hopped out of their vehicles.

* * *

The foreman with the van stood on the towbar to look out over the assembled crowd, who were watching him with interest. He was an out-of-towner, a blow-in, who was apparently short of labour. These jobs were the best ones, better conditions, better hours, and most importantly better pay.

The out-of-towner, who was wearing a fluoro orange safety vest and had sunglasses on his head despite the sun being barely visible, addressed the assembled mob of hopeful labourers.

"Alright, alright pipe down!" he commanded, as the chatter amongst regulars disappeared. "I've got a gig up Lake Arrowhead way, working on the new housing that's going up. It's a week's work, you live onsite, work hard get paid well. Rich people means better money so I'm paying $12 an hour for standards, and $15 an hour if you can tile better than your average retard. Anyone else got any other special skills, see me after."

At once everyone was speaking, shouting their own names, and the man standing on the towbar looked down at them disdainfully. Scanning the crowd, his eyes lit upon an individual.

"Benny! Ben, get your ass over here!" he shouted, as Ben Cheney waved a hand in greeting and pushed his way to the front of the group of thirty or so.

"Give us a hand would ya?" requested the out-of-towner to Ben Cheney, while gesturing to the potential labourers, "just pick me some who aren't going to fall off the roof and can find their way around."

Suddenly it was cries of "Ben!" and "Benny!" ringing out as people began to trying to catch Ben Cheney's eye whether they knew him or not.

Ben proceeded to pick them one by one, carefully scanning the crowd.

"Cullen! Ed! You're up buddy!" shouted Ben over the heads, pointing at me.

I smiled gratefully at him, and picked my way to the front. The foreman looked me up and down with a scowl.

"Really Benny? He looks about ten years old, and a pretty boy to boot. What the fuck are you doing giving him the job for? I can't afford to have them shut me down for having underage guys on site. Is he your favourite rentboy or sommit?" sniggered the out-of-towner, still staring at me.

"Piss off Bill, he's the best tile layer out of that mob and he's being doing it for years. His cards clear, you've got no legal trouble if they come do a site check," retorted Ben as they loaded themselves into the back of the van.

I nodded my appreciation to Ben as we sat in the van with the single mesh-covered bulb swinging from the ceiling. I'd never gotten one of these gigs before, normally the out-of-town guys wouldn't look twice at a guy who was clearly still a kid if they could get an adult for the same wage. The money was extraordinary too, I'd never had a gig that paid better than $11 an hour, and that had been for a guy who was two months behind schedule and had the owners breathing down his neck.

* * *

Ben was the nicest guy I knew from the group of regulars. The others dismissed me because of my age, but Ben never had. He'd helped me get used to it, and had shown me a modicum of sympathy, which is more than I had ever gotten elsewhere.

He was a married man, with a pregnant wife at home and not much future. Ben wanted to own and operate his own car garage, because nowhere would employ him without some technical training. It was stupid, Ben knew more about cars than anyone I'd ever met, but he couldn't afford a piece of paper saying it officially from a tech school, so no one would employ him as a mechanic. That's why he wanted so badly to start his own.

So he had been labouring for nearly a decade now, saving what he could to buy what he needed to get started, and beg, borrowing and stealing whatever else he could find. Normally the stealing part was metaphorical, but in this town, one could never be sure.

* * *

Oh god it's hot. It's like the surface of the sun is sitting a couple of metres away from the back of my neck as I pick up another tile, and wiggled it into place. Stupid rich people. Who the hell needs a three story house anyway? I sit up and mop my neck, and stare out over the lake. To be fair, I reasoned to myself, if I had a view like this one I'd want to make the best of it.

Lake Arrowhead was a beautiful reserve in the Saint Bernardino Mountains, in the national forest, barely a couple of hours outside of Los Angeles on the other side. It was remote, gorgeous, and exclusive. What more could the fabulously wealthy want for themselves? Oh that's right, cheap labour to put their holiday mansions together.

But honestly, who could blame them? Brilliant weather and scenery during summer, and the best skiing this side of Aspen, twenty minutes further up the mountain at Big Bear. Out on the lake there were boats puttering around, some water-skiers tearing up the wakes behind speed boats and even a few permanent yachts moored at Lake Arrowhead Village pier, in the inventively named 'Yacht Bay'. Pine trees and conifers lined the lakes edges all the way up the sides of the mountain, where they hadn't been cleared for houses, and stretched beyond my line of vision, giving the lake an extremely enclosed and attractive feel.

And here I was, with all that expanse of water taking up my view, sitting on a rooftop making sure each new slab of slate fitted in comfortably and easily with the one the overlapped it at the top so a man with a can of sealant could glue it down. I was living the life.

"Jesus Christ," exclaimed Ben from beside me, wiping the sweat off his brow. "It's like my eyes are melting here, my vision's getting wavy."

Ben and I were doing the western corner of the house, while another pair did the eastern side. They didn't like us very much, the other guys. We were cheap labour who they saw as undercutting their market by doing knock-off jobs for about two-thirds the cost. Not that anyone would notice any difference between the work they'd done and what Ben and I had lain down. Difference was that piece of paper again. It's always about the piece of paper.

An air horn suddenly rang out over the site, the horn that was usually sounded to signify lunch. Ben glanced at the two dollar digital watch on his wrist and then at me, and shrugged. It was forty-five minutes before we were supposed to knock off, when we got half an hour for a midday meal, but we weren't complaining. The heat was becoming oppressive three floors up.

I'd been onsite for two days now, and it was still the first place I'd seen that was catered. The lunch was simply sandwiches with some fillings, but to me it was a godsend. On normal sites it was expected you brought your own lunch, or went and bought some if there was a shop nearby. Since Donny took every cent I made as soon as I walked through the door each day, buying it was out of the question.

The money I made, combined with the weekly welfare checks and food stamps barely covered dinner and breakfast at home, let alone the resources to make myself a packed lunch. Of course, there was more money to be had; Donny just wouldn't give it to me for the shopping I had to do.

If we were on a site together for a few days, Ben had taken to bringing me a sandwich out of pity, but I felt guilty for taking it. He had a wife and a child on the way, as well as dreams of his garage. He'd have had his garage already too, if he hadn't been so stupid.

* * *

No one in Adelanto is without fault. Ben was a good guy, as good as anyone I knew in fact, but he was stupid. He got drunk and he gambled. He and Donny started school together, and when they dropped out they both got jobs at a joinery factory a fair way out of town.

One night nearly five years ago, they were drinking and playing poker on a Friday night. And things started to escalate; they drank continuously, and gambled even more. Donny was slightly more sober and ended up taking the keys to Ben's car and all his savings over the course of the night. It had totalled up to almost five grand in poker debts. Donny, of course, had insisted on collecting every penny, even though Ben had begged and pleaded.

I knew this because I'd seen Ben at our house, desperately pleading with Donny to let him keep some of the money he'd saved, but Donny was having none of it. Donny was a bigger idiot than Ben ever was, and he owed some serious cash to some much nastier individuals. So that was where a large part of my pay went each week, keeping Donny's creditors from beating him to a pulp. Oh, and heroin for my crack-whore of a mother, that shouldn't be forgotten.

For Ben's part, he'd gotten me my fake ID and construction card to help pay off part of his debt to Donny, and he tried to hold his marriage to Angela together after she kicked him to the curb for a month or so. Ben had roughed it but paid his dues, and Angela took him back eventually. He'd paid off most of his debt to Donny, who'd refused to take the car for two reasons; firstly it was a piece of junk, and second he liked holding things over people's heads. He was both stupid, and a vindictive prick, which was a deadly combination.

* * *

We stood around in a semi-circle as the foreman held the microphone to his lips, and scowled at us all.

"Due to it being too bloody hot, as the site's safety inspector has kept reminding me, for us to legally allow you to work, you've got the next three hours off to let the temperature drop," he announced, to general muted celebration and sighs of relief.

"This job is on a deadline though, so overtime is expected. You're on pay and a half after 5pm though so don't moan too much you bunch of girls," the foreman added, his voice rising to drown out the murmurings of dissatisfaction at being expected to work after knock-off.

The assembled builders and other construction workers slowly dissipated in various directions, and Ben turned to me with a grin.

"I'm dying in this gear," Ben said, gesturing to his tool belt and safety vest, "you fancy a quick dip in the lake? Last one in is lifting the tiles to the roof for the rest of the week!"

I laughed appreciatively at the suggestion, and without hesitating dropped my helmet, tool belt and safety vest before yanking off my shoes and socks on route to the edge of the lake, leaving a trail of clothing and equipment in my wake.

My exuberance meant I'd left Ben in my wake, but as I reached the bottom of the grassy embankment on the very border of the construction site, I heard a young female voice from the next doors balcony behind me.

"Edward?"

* * *

**I was considering making this entirely from Bella's point of view, but I like my Edward too much to not write about his life in detail. So maybe what I'm thinking is two chapters of Bella followed by two chapters of Edward maybe? I know some of you will be unhappy that there was no interaction between B and E but I felt I had to set the scene for Edward's life somewhat, I hope you'll agree (please?)**

**Also a massive thank you to everyone who reviewed, it was incredible receiving so much positive feedback on a completely new story, extremely gratifying as the writer to get that kind of response. If you have an opinion, be it good, bad or ugly, leave me a review and tell me what you think!**


	4. Chapter 4

You know that moment of indecision where you're about to do something physically impressive and someone calls out to you, and you end up neither stopping what you were doing nor completing the original physically impressive task?

That's pretty much what happened to me.

I heard my name called just as I bent my knees to dive into the lake, prematurely looking forward to washing away the hours of grime and sweat I'd inevitably accumulated on the worksite, in my mind already frolicking in the cool and refreshing waters of Lake Arrowhead.

Instead of stopping to turn and face whoever had called my name, or alternatively completing what imagined being my elegant swan dive, I mixed the two actions by clumsily stumbling off the edge of the bank, and falling into the water with a loud splash and a muffled curse.

Ben, of course, had managed to pull up short of the bank despite it being my name that had been called, and was now laughing uproariously at my predicament.

I levered myself out of the shallow waters still muttering a collection of words that would have shocked a sailor, and looked for whoever had called my name, ready to give them a terse word, or several, about bad moments in which to shout someone's name.

"Edward?" repeated the voice, sounding slightly more concerned, and I felt a rush of satisfaction. That's right, feel guilty about what you just did to me.

I didn't recognise the voice immediately, but she clearly recognised me while I was running full pelt away from her so it was apparently someone I knew.

She appeared at the bottom of the stone steps that led down the back of the decking she was situated upon, and my mouth slid open an inch.

"Bella?" I asked incredulously at the girl briskly walking across the lawn towards me.

Dressed in a blue sundress, her white wide brimmed hat and sunglasses in her hand, she skipped across the grass barefooted with a small smile on her face.

"I can't believe it's you, wow, what are the odds of this?" she asked as she approached, and rocked back on her heels when she came within the awkward three foot range, unsure of what to do. She hadn't changed all that much at all; maybe a few inches taller since I'd last seen her almost two years ago, but having grown myself it was difficult to accurately judge.

"How did you even know it was me?" I asked, somewhat incredulously and for want of anything more meaningful. I couldn't believe she'd remembered the back of my head that well.

She looked a little bashful at this question.

"I thought I spotted you yesterday when we arrived, but I wasn't completely certain, and you were on a building site so I couldn't just come and say hello."

"How on earth could you spot me from that far away?" I asked, still not completely convinced.

"You have very distinctive hair," she replied, biting her lip nervously, "I could see it from the front yard."

Self consciously I ran a hand through my hair, and peered at the house behind Bella.

"So is this is your house, huh?"

She glanced over her shoulder as if to confirm that indeed it was her house, and it hadn't moved in the ten seconds since she'd left the small raised decking, and nodded with an embarrassed smile on her face.

There was a cough to my left, and Ben stood there, glancing between the two of us with a wry grin.

"I'll just go... I'll just go and grab something to eat then, or whatever," he said, winking heavily at me. Subtle was not an adjective I'd have used to describe Ben, but Bella didn't seem to be too put off.

As Ben disappeared back up the embankment towards the building site, there was a temporary silence. I searched around for something to say to break the awkwardness that had descended.

"I thought you lived in Malibu?" I asked, staring at the building in front of me. It was enormous, Ben and I had been joking about it when we arrived, making up background stories for the kind of people who lived in a house like this while we laid tiles. He'd be pleased to know that we weren't too far off the mark, as far as I could tell.

"We do still live in Malibu," Bella said, flicking the hair from her eyes gently.

"So you're on holiday here?" I asked, still looking over her shoulder at the magnificent home.

"We've been coming here every year since I was born," Bella replied, examining my face closely, looking for a reaction. "Daddy had it built the year he married mom, so they could get away from everything."

"Are your parents here as well?" I asked.

"Why wouldn't they be?" she replied, slightly more forcefully. We both knew I was fishing for information, but I decided to come clean.

"It's just that... last time you told me they were..." I trailed off awkwardly, unsure how to phrase it.

"You remember that?" She responded, looking surprised.

It was my turn to nod, before another silence enveloped us.

"Would you like to come inside, maybe get some lunch?" she asked suddenly, looking up at me from underneath her hair that still hung over her eyes.

* * *

I paused, slightly caught off guard.

"You don't have to, I mean if you're working or you've got somewhere else to be, that's cool," she added in a rush.

I shook my head faintly.

"Are your parent's home?" I asked.

"No, they've gone out for the day, mom made daddy take her for a drive up to Big Bear so she could go and see a few of her friends. Knowing mom, she won't be let daddy leave for home until he's almost in tears of boredom."

"Then lunch would be good."

I started to follow her up to the house, when I realised that I didn't have anything apart from my cheap, slightly ratty, boxer briefs on. I coughed to hide my overwhelming rush of mortification, and went to retrieve my shorts, socks, shoes and singlet. I could hear Bella's strangled giggle from behind the hand she had clamped over her mouth as she watched me redress and relace my boots.

"Why didn't you want my parents here?" she asked, as she opened the screen door at the back of the decking, which led directly into a large, well equipped kitchen. Everything was stainless steel or marble, and glowed with cleanliness and wealth. I was afraid to admit it made me a little intimidated, and tongue tied.

"I... ehh... should I take my shoes off?" I asked, glancing down at my work boots somewhat stupidly. Before she even had a chance to answer, I blushed with embarrassment at having drawn attention to the state they were in, and began to unlace them.

My boots were hand-me-downs from Ben who'd bought a new pair. Of course Donny had no interest in making sure I had the right gear when he sent me on these jobs, but Ben had generously donated his old pair to me so I could protect myself from breaking a foot or toes every time someone dropped something. Which happened a lot.

It was so hot outside that I'd dried off standing in the sun for only a few minutes, the only damp part being my briefs which was soaking through my shorts slightly.

"Edward," Bella repeated with a puzzled grin, "why don't you want my parents here?"

"Oh! Eh... Well your dad didn't seem too keen on me last time, and I'm not exactly dressed up either. You wouldn't have a towel I could borrow would you? Just so I don't drip everywhere," I answered, thumbing awkwardly at the edges of my singlet.

She was dressed simply, yet elegantly in a full sundress, and here I was in a pair of tradesman's cargo shorts and a singlet.

"Don't worry, this is a holiday house, we live by a lake. There's a reason the floor is tiled in here, it doesn't matter if you drip a bit. And we can go and eat outside if it makes you feel better, I was sitting in the shade of the awning reading until you belly flopped into the lake anyway."

"I didn't belly flop!" I protested loudly, as she laughed, which I couldn't help feel a little elated at. I liked it when she laughed; she covered her face with her hand and giggled softly. It wasn't like girls at school giggling either. It was strange to me.

"Whatever you want to call it then," she answered.

"My rudely interrupted swan dive," I responded to which she laughed again, and opened the fridge.

I grinned like an idiot until she turned back and asked me what I fancied to eat.

Forcing the stupid grin off my face so she didn't think I was simple, I shrugged.

"I've been eating pre-packaged sandwiches and drinking cheap supermarket soft drink for the whole of this week, and that's pretty good for me. I'm honestly not fussed," I replied.

She frowned slightly, but turned back to the fridge.

* * *

In the end, the spread of dips, meats, vegetables and other sandwich fillings that were laid out on the counter before me was almost too much for me to handle. I mean, what the hell is eggplant and sesame shellfish dip for? When would you ever possibly think, I know what will go perfectly with this dish, a dollop of eggplant and sesame shellfish dip?

I digress. I was staring at the offending dip container trying not to be rude about it, and Bella was looking at me worriedly.

"Is there something missing? I'm sorry, mom said they would go shopping on the way home, but we're a little low at the moment."

I couldn't help chuckling.

"In the four meals I've eaten on site that haven't been breakfast, I've had a choice between a ham sandwich with lettuce or a ham sandwich with tomato. Not that you can really taste the difference, if I'm being honest, it's all a bit flavours of cardboard. This... this is incredible."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, and blushed while ducking her head.

I honestly didn't have much thought for her embarrassment however, as I was too busy slicing open my half baguette, fresh from the local bakery naturally, and trying to decide which of the six cold meat platters I was going to sample.

Bella took some chicken and a bit of lettuce in the other half of the baguette and declared that she wasn't that hungry and that she would locate some glasses for us to drink from. I couldn't escape the call of the lamb platter and so without much restraint, I loaded my sandwich with lamb, lettuce, tomato, olives, cheese, relish, and a smidgeon of the perplexing eggplant and sesame shellfish dip. I'd barely skimmed the surface of the available fillings, but my baguette didn't look to have the structural integrity to support any more.

Bella looked at me with a raised eyebrow, and I wondered if I'd over-extended myself and my welcome by sampling so many of her fridges joys, but she allayed my fears.

"You have some strange tastes in sandwich combinations there," she said, handing me a glass of water, and opening the sliding door to the back deck.

It was my turn to feel embarrassed. In all my life, I'd never had so much choice. I'd never got to put together a meal like this, and I really had little idea of what went well with what. So I'd hedged my bets and went with a lot of everything, figuring it might taste ordinary, but at least it would be filling.

* * *

She led us to a pair of deck chairs on the back decking, under the cover an awning that extended out from the house. Moving her book before placing the drinks on the small table between us, she lay back on the seat and slipped her sunglasses down over her eyes.

I followed suit, and glanced over at the book that was now lying face down on the decking.

"What are you reading?" I asked, simply making conversation.

"It's Watership Down, by Richard Adams, it's one of our set English texts for this year. What are you reading for your..." she began, and then her mouth fell open, eyes wide, and she covered her face with both her hands.

"I'm so sorry," she gushed, looking mortified, "I don't know how I forgot, I mean you're sitting there wearing your work clothing, and I'm asking you stupid questions about school, and you've got so many things on your mind already I'm sure, god, you remembered something I told you last year and I couldn't remember something from thirty seconds ago, how could I be so stupid?"

I couldn't help but laugh at her tinged cheeks and humiliated expression.

"My set text is Black and Decker's Complete Guide to Roofing and Siding," I said with a smile on my face.

"You're mocking me, aren't you?" she replied, summoning a glare from between her fingers.

"Possibly," I responded, leaning back. "So, what's this Watership Down like?"

"It's about Rabbits," Bella said, finally unhanding her face, and staring at me oddly.

"Is that literature code for something? Is it like Animal Farm where they're supposed to represent famous figures from history?"

"You've read George Orwell?"

"I'm a labourer, I'm not illiterate," I said, a tinge of annoyance creeping in for the first time.

I couldn't exactly blame her for being surprised, I'd only read it because I'd discovered it lying around the house. Mom had been using it as a wedge for the table leg closest to the kitchen which was shorter than the other three. When I asked her about it, she couldn't remember, which wasn't uncommon, but thought it had been there before we arrived.

It wasn't surprising, before we lived there, the last librarian of Adelanto had lived in this house temporarily before escaping to somewhere more civilised. 'Philistines' had been the word she used to describe us regularly, which had sparked my interest in words to some degree. Of course, the Adelanto library would have had to have been the least utilized public facility in history of underused government funded programs, and closed only ten years after opening.

The building had become decrepit and of course as soon as the library moved out, local kids smashed the windows and spray painted obscenities on the walls. When a kid lit a fire that burned the entire eastern face of the building the government just wrote it off, and the remainder of the building stayed there with no tenants or future plans.

* * *

Bella, meanwhile, was trying to hide her embarrassed blush once more.

"I'm sorry Edward, please that's not what I meant," she half begged, seemingly reverting to her previously mortified state.

"I know, I know, a little unusual for someone in my position I'll admit. I haven't read much literature, partially because it's not available really where I live, but also because it's a bit of a waste of time."

The transformation from embarrassed to enraged was less than a split-second.

"What do you mean 'it's a waste of time'? How is literature in any way a waste of time?"

Oops. Apparently I'd struck a nerve. She was now kneeling on her lounge bed, staring expectantly at me over the table as if I was about to give a closing statement on death row, and the jury were baying for my blood.

"It's just that, in my position, I don't have a lot of time, and the time I do have I prefer to spend reading something factual and educational. Something where I'm directly becoming more knowledgeable about a particular topic. I read a lot of out-of-date school books when they get thrown away."

I thought it was a nicely constructed reply, right levels of sympathy-inducing sob story and my actual position on the issue.

Bella was not placated.

"Literature is as informative and often more so than any textbook or schoolbook you could ever imagine. It teaches one about different times, ideas, places and people, it takes you on voyages you might never get to travel in person, it opens parts of your mind that would otherwise be left unopened, and it is the interpretation of art as words on a page. Literature is the gateway to worlds that exist and those that don't; it is a journey into the depths of oneself."

I sat there in silence, staring at her with an unavoidably blank look on my face.

She coughed and lay back on the deckchair, and took a bite of her baguette.

"Right," was all I could muster as a reply.

"I like literature," she said between mouthfuls, "and that was the speech that my teacher printed off and made us stick in the front of our notebooks at the beginning of the year."

"Its ahhh... it's an impressive quote. Who said it?"

"He did. Like all good educators, he's a total narcissist."

It was my turn to laugh into my baguette as I took a bite.

* * *

With my somewhat ordinary tasting, yet extremely filling sandwich finished, we sat in silence for a moment, appreciating the beauty and the serenity of the situation I found myself in.

My little moment of serenity, however, was about to be shattered. It took me a few seconds to realise that I could hear voices from inside the house, but I hadn't managed to turn around before the door to the decking opened, and a woman stepped out.

"...I really don't understand what the matter is Charlie, you seem perfectly alright now, and you sounded like you were gargling switchblades half an hour ago, but low and behold... Oh!"

Renee Swan was interrupted mid-monologue by the shock of seeing me lying on one of her deck chairs, and she stared open mouthed for a second, before closing it again and addressing her daughter.

"Bella, you didn't tell me you were having a friend over; you said you would be finishing off your book today! What was it, the one about the rabbits," she rambled, eyes wide.

Mrs. Swan hadn't changed all that much since I'd last seen her. She was dressed more casually, yet still extremely smartly, and her eyes widened even further when I stood up and held out my hand to greet her, my cheeks extremely red with embarrassment. I'd been hoping to avoid this situation.

Bella, of course, could see no such problem.

"Mom, you remember Edward don't you? He's the boy from the charity dinner that stayed over the night in our hotel! You're always saying what a small world it is."

Naturally, to round off my humiliation, Bella's father Charlie, the congressman, followed his wife out of the sliding door. Like his wife, he hadn't changed much. Maybe a few more grey hairs than I remembered, and the pair of shorts and a polo shirt made his age more apparent, but I would have recognised them anywhere.

Mrs. Swan, apparently recovered from her shock, turned to her husband.

"We remember Edward, don't we dear? He stayed the night with us after your benefit dinner a few years back."

Charlie Swan's eyes rested upon me, standing awkwardly in front of him as he looked me up and down.

"So, you're the boy who ran away in the middle of the night are you?" he asked finally, staring at me.

I ducked my head to avoid his glare, while the congressman was admonished by his wife.

"Charlie! Don't be rude to Bella's friend, I'm sorry Edward, do forgive him. We're just a little shocked to see you, after, well, you know..." she trailed off awkwardly, as I stared resolutely at the planks of wood beneath my feet.

"Isn't it incredible though?" Bella jumped in, apparently clueless to the awkward nature of the situation, "I mean what are the odds of that? I thought I saw him yesterday, but I wasn't sure, but then I saw him again today and I couldn't not say hello."

Charlie was too busy silently remonstrating with his wife to notice his daughter's exclamation, but he certainly didn't miss the next one.

"I know! We should have him over for dinner after he finishes work this evening!"

If glares could have melted a person, I'd be seeping inbetween the gaps in the deck.

It clearly took a minute for Charlie to compose himself after that particular suggestion.

"What do you mean, 'finish work' exactly?"

Apparently he thought if he ignored the question part of that sentence, that it would simply disappear.

"He's working on the building site next-door daddy, that's how I found him!"

My wince wasn't exactly well hidden. Why couldn't she just lie and tell him I was saving local wildlife as part of my high-achievers pre-college program?

"Can we have him over mom, can you cook an extra portion?"

Mrs. Swan was standing somewhat agape at the entire scenario, but quickly shook herself and addressed her only child in a slightly shocked tone.

"Uh, yes we've got plenty in the fridge," she replied without looking like she'd really thought about her answer.

To Bella, that was apparently all the confirmation she needed.

"Oh thank you mom, that's wonderful. I mean, if you're available this evening that is Edward? Would you like to come to dinner with us?"

My mind almost froze. She's just put me on the spot. All the factors are racing through my head, and in the end I just blurted out a "yes" to end the silence. Oh god. What have I done? Her parents are both looking at me now, and her father looks at me like I'm something he's trodden in.

"Good, well that settles things then, dinner at 7pm this evening, thank you ever so much mom and daddy!"

I have to get out of here.

"I'm sorry, I've got to get back to work now," my brain manages to push out of my mouth.

"Oh, that's a shame, but I'll see you at 7 o'clock then. Have fun at work!"

Her father's growl of disapproval is audible.

It was only when I was once more three floors up with Ben again, that I realised I was working overtime this evening, with no way of letting them know I would be late or couldn't make it.

Oh god. This should really improve Bella's parents' opinions of me. Well actually, to my mind they probably couldn't get worse, so really the only way was up. Hopefully.

* * *

**A/N: Hope you've had a happy holidays, whatever your denomination, or lack thereof. Anyhow, apologies for the gap, it's been a busy few months but I should never leave it that long. Hope you enjoyed the reasonably long chapter with plenty of interaction.**

**As always, any feedback would be massively appreciated, even if it's just an abusive review telling me to update faster! They do work you know :)**


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